


When Magic Meets Strength

by MoonMargaret



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-18
Updated: 2012-08-22
Packaged: 2017-11-12 09:46:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/489517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonMargaret/pseuds/MoonMargaret
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Merlin left Camelot for what he thought was forever, he did not bid farewell to Gwaine. When Merlin comes back, Gwaine has a few things to say about that. A mini-series about the friendship between Gwaine and Merlin. *Part of my "What Goes Around"/"Comes Around" universe, but can be read separately*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Repetitions And Regret

"Merlin" is not mine.   
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No.

No.

Hell no.

He had not done it again. There was no way that he had done it again. If he had done it again, Gwaine would have to kill him. Gwaine didn't want to kill him, but he felt almost obligated to throw some sort of particularly violent temper tantrum. If it were of the mortal variety, would he really be the one to blame? After all, his personal motto of the past few months had become fairly well known amongst his peers. "If you fool a man once, shame on him. If you fool a man twice, he gets to beat you to death with a stick."

Or something like that.

But he didn't want to have to beat Merlin to death with a stick, and not least because he wasn't sure if he'd be able to get within ten feet of the young sorcerer with any apparent wrathful intentions without being turned into a frog or radish or something equally undignified. The element of surprise could only take him so far.

But it didn't matter, because Merlin had not run off without warning again. He had not decided that he was going to leave the castle and not tell Gwaine and not tell anyone where the hell he was going and Arthur's new manservant was not correct when he'd babbled at Gwaine to claim that Merlin was on the verge of flying off on a dragon on what was probably a very stupid and very poorly thought out mission of some sort. No, Merlin was not doing these things, because no one had exiled him this time and he would have had no good legitimate excuse for leaving without telling anyone a damn thing.

And he had not taken Arthur with him.

He had not done these things, because if Merlin had done these things, then Merlin was an idiot and Gwaine would be mad and he wouldn't have Arthur around to blame it all on anymore. From the impression that Gwaine had gotten when they'd spoken a few moments earlier, Guenevere herself had no idea that Merlin and Arthur were even up to anything. She had send for Gwaine, half frantic and half exasperated, because Arthur's manservant had shown up, white and shaking and mumbling something about breaking his sacred servant's vow to the extent that even patient Guinevere looked on the verge of finding a stick of her own with which to beat the servant to death, talking about the king getting ready to ride a dragon and run off on a journey and she was hoping that it wasn't true because that would have been so stupid and annoyingly characteristic of the pair of them that it was annoyingly feasible as fact and Guinevere had shared this all with Gwaine to deal with because she had been feeling unwell all day and now it was Gwaine's problem and Gwaine was about one more offense away from embarking on a quest to find a good beating-friends-to-death stick.

Why would Merlin want to leave anyway? Arthur had practically redesigned the whole political system of Camelot to accommodate Merlin. He could complain about Arthur not appreciating him all that he wanted, but if Merlin didn't see what Arthur had done for him, he was a fool. Magic was legal. Merlin was declared no longer a traitor and allowed back to court. Hell, he'd been welcomed back to court and given a position on Arthur's council. He'd been a manservant! Arthur had caught him breaking what had perhaps been the most fundamental of laws in Camelot—proclaiming execution for any practicioners of magic—and within half of a year changed half a dozen laws so that it could all be legal and Merlin could come back and now Merlin was leaving without so much as a wave goodbye?

Again?

And Merlin was going to catch all hell if word spread throughout the kingdom that he'd taken Arthur with him. Half of the population would be screaming "kidnap" so quickly that the idea of sorcerers being anything other than evil that had been becoming more and more popular over recent months would fade as quickly as it had taken for Merlin to anger Gwaine again.

Which, as it turned out, was pretty quickly.

Gwaine sighed and sat down heavily, scratching at the phantom itch in his right arm that always began to tickle at him whenever he thought too long about the stupid acts that Merlin had taken to favoring as of late. It was the arm that he'd burned half to hell in his admittedly shortsighted plan to rescue Arthur—and yes, illogically, Merlin—from the walls of fire that had separated himself and the rest of the knights from the pair. Knowing that Merlin had conjured the flames hadn't been enough to quench the instinct to help his friend in a situation that was clearly fraught with peril, the fact that he had in fact brought the peril into the scenario by his own free will. So, Gwaine followed his instincts and took the most natural course of action.

He stuck his right arm into the wall of magical fire, reaching through, trying to break through the flames to, if not save, at least do his best to go down at the sides of the man whom he had sworn to serve and the man whom he had been able to truly call his first unconditional friend.

Of course, the flames had all but flayed the flesh off of his arm, and he'd spent about half of a minute cursing Merlin for setting a room on fire before realizing that he was more upset with Merlin for the fire than for the magic and that it clearly didn't make a damn bit of difference if Merlin was or was not a sorcerer.

So he'd let Merlin heal him, even as the others in the room—Arthur included—had been noticeably fearful of the newly evident powers of the young man. And now, Gwaine had nothing more than a scar on his right arm, and even that was barely noticeable. He could swing as sword with as much gusto as he had ever been able before, and he was fairly certain that, were there any friends whom he particularly wanted to beat to death with a stick, he'd be able to manage easily enough.

Gwaine threw his head back in frustration, and let out an audible groan that sounded like half of a roar and half of a dry sob combined into a single exhalation. It came out sounding like a particularly loud hiccup.

This did not help to improve his mood.

Of course, Arthur's chambers were probably not the rooms most likely to lift his spirits. Gwaine didn't even really know why he'd chosen the king's chambers for his refuge. He'd left the queen with every intention of seeking out either Arthur or Merlin before they made their rumored escape on the back of the dragon that Merlin had had the arrogance—or at least, lack of foresight—to fly into Camelot, but he hadn't taken two steps out of her chambers before turning and stomping his way into her husband's adjoining rooms, slamming the heavy door satisfyingly behind him. He knew that it was extraordinarily unlikely that he should encounter either of the two men and therefore succeed in stopping or shouting at them, but he didn't have it in him to face them, even one at a time. Strangely, it was easier for him to be angry and bitter and resentful at the idea of the two of them running off than for him to face any real evidence of the fact before it became obvious to everyone else at the same time. It wouldn't have felt like such a personal slight. He wouldn't have felt it the same way, just as how he had been distinctly touched that he had been the knight that the queen had summoned when she'd received word of the possible flight of her husband and his idiot friend.

And he wouldn't have to focus on the fact that what was the most painful wasn't that they were leaving him behind but that they didn't trust him enough to bring him along.

Suddenly overwhelmed with the uncomfortable emotions that always unfortunately accompanied any such heavy feelings as of abandonment and envy, Gwaine found himself grabbing the nearest of Arthur's personal belongings and throwing them, as violently and with as much strength as he possessed, against the wall opposite him, wanting to wreak some sort of havoc against the king, enact some sort of chaos for him to face when he returned, wanting to destroy and break and tear apart and make his mark that he was there and he was effective and that he was worth having around.

He then wished that he had chosen to sit somewhere other than on Arthur's bed. Throwing Arthur's pillows at the walls, no matter how forcefully, did not have the cathartic effect that he'd been hoping for.

Stupid Arthur. Who needed that many pillows anyway? And why did he have a pillow with tassels on his bed? It was bad enough that the king felt the need to sleep with half a dozen pillows. It was just getting embarrassing if he was starting to use decorative pillows.

Then, suddenly, there was a knock on Arthur's door. It was soft, but strangely firm, as though the knocker somehow did not want to make a great deal of noise when requesting entry but intended to enter the room no matter what.

Well, it wasn't Gwaine's room. What should he care who came in? Maybe the knocker also wanted to destroy some of Arthur's possessions and would choose somewhere far more destroyable to sit than on the king's bed.

The mystery supplicant knocked once more, and Gwaine all at once grew suddenly annoyed again. He picked up the red tasseled pillow and threw it through the air toward the door. At the very same instant, the person on the other side decided that he'd had enough with knocking and pushed open the heavy wooden door.

Gwaine therefore received a small amount of satisfaction when the door opened all the way to reveal Merlin just in time for him to be smacked in the chest with the tasseled pillow. The blow wouldn't have hurt him in the slightest, Gwaine knew, but still. It was nice to see.

Gwaine sat up, his heart beating quickly, taken aback despite himself and his warrior's instincts. He didn't speak, not wanting to be the one to break the silence.

Merlin just walked in, his face annoyingly earnest and sincere and Gwaine was just on the verge of forgiving him immediately for whatever he had been planning on doing when he remembered the last time that he had seen Merlin approach him like this.

It had been when they had been reunited for the first time since Merlin's return from exile, for the first time since before Merlin had chosen to leave Camelot—believing his absence to be irreversible—without bidding Gwaine a farewell, for the first time since Gwaine had smuggled him a final stash of ale wrapped up in the crimson curtains that Merlin had hung up in his cell in the dungeons, for the sheer purpose of deliberately annoying Arthur. The last time that Merlin had looked at him as he was now, it had been the first time that they had met, for the second time.

So Gwaine turned his head away from the sorcerer, lay back down once more on the king's bed, and remembered…

.

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So, this was supposed to be a oneshot of Gwaine and Merlin's first reunion after his return from exile in "Comes Around" after their lack of goodbye in "What Goes Around." It has turned into what will be a mini-series, probably only three or four chapters (and shorter than usual) that will include a flashback to that reunion and set up a bridge to the sequel/third part of "What Goes Around"/"Comes Around," which I have decided that I will be writing. Updates should be quick.

I don't know if this could make any sense to anyone who hasn't read my preceding stories, but I hope so. There was some exposition, as this was originally going to be a modified version of the prologue to Part 3. To those who have read the previous stories (thank you ), I hope that this was more or less consistent with what I have written before.

Reviews would be much appreciated! I wasn't sure if I was going to do this one at all, so I'd love the feedback.

Thank you!


	2. The First Reunion

Disclaimer: Merlin is not mine.  
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Merlin had looked exhausted. That was what Gwaine remembered most clearly. Every line in his young body was all but sagging over the lanky frame, looking as though, were it not for the bones that always showed so alarmingly clearly through the thin fabric of whatever shabby tunic he had chosen to wear that day, he would have collapsed into a heap of flesh on the floor below him. His eyes were so weary and somehow so heavy that Gwaine had been unable to understand at the time how they could still be so widely open. It was such a peculiar combination of expressions that Gwaine had to shelve his anger for a moment at the sight of the errant sorcerer returned so as to wonder how someone could look so utterly tired but still so completely awake. Not exactly alert—Gwaine had the impression that, if he had chosen to throw anything in the young man's direction, it would smack him in the face before he would have had the presence of mind to register that Gwaine's arm had moved—but awake.

So Gwaine had the courtesy to alter his previous plan for how this reunion was to work, which had indeed involved throwing something—Gwaine had never been sure exactly what, for it depended on whatever location that Merlin chose to finally deign Gwaine with his presence—in the young man's direction. But it wouldn't have been fun if Merlin was so dead to the world that he wouldn't have time to try to dodge. Throwing something at Merlin at that moment just seemed…mean. And things that felt mean often were not particularly fun, in Gwaine's opinion.

That was when Gwaine realized that he was perhaps less furious at Merlin than he'd believed himself to be.

That, plus he had the distinct impression that Merlin had deliberately sought him out for whatever he had to say. After all, why would Merlin wander into the armory at midnight?

But wander in he did, and when he saw Gwaine leaning upon the large table in the center of the room, a well-worn whetstone in his hand as he worked at sharpening his sword, as he so often did when he was unable to sleep and did not particularly want to lay in bed thinking about why, he stopped a few feet into the room at looked at the knight, no hint of surprise in his face. He did not speak.

Gwaine stood straight from where he had been leaning hard over the table, growing sleepy despite himself. He laid his sword down on the table and placed the whetstone calmly to its side. He had plenty of things to say to Merlin, most of them less than welcoming, but he didn't see why he should say them whilst holding items that could be certainly used as weapons of the deadliest kind. He wasn't planning on slicing Merlin with his sword and hitting him in the head with a rock or beating him to death with a stick or anything so ridiculously inconceivable, and there was no reason for him to make Merlin believe that he was considering it. Besides, he figured that Merlin would be more likely to listen to what Gwaine was saying if he did not have to keep an eye on his sword.

Gwaine strode over to the front of the table, wiping his hands needlessly on his trousers, and leaned his back against it, trying to appear casually expectant. He crossed his arms over his chest and waited. If Merlin had anything to say, he would have to be the one to break the silence.

Then, the silence was indeed most clumsily broken. Unfortunately, it had not been through any efforts of Merlin's. Gwaine heard a frustrated but clearly determined voice echoing into the armory through the corridor, growing steadily louder as the speaker stomped closer to the room where Gwaine and Merlin were finally facing one another.

"Merlin, if you're not going to tell me why the hell you decided to come up here in the middle of the night instead of getting some sleep like a normal person, I'm just going to keep following you. Annoying, isn't it? Just stop and explain and for heaven's sake, try to sleep off what's happened today, and it will all stop. I'll stop following you and leave you alone and do all the considerate things that you never did when you followed me around no matter what I told you and why the hell are you going into the armory right now when—"

When Arthur finally stomped his way into the armory, Gwaine almost broke his deliberately stern countenance at the expression on the king's face. He'd actually managed to nearly work his way through a whole new unintelligible sentence in Merlin's direction before his peripheral vision finally indicated to him that perhaps the sorcerer had not been the only man in the room when he'd barged in. When he glanced over in the darkness of the armory—Gwaine hadn't been in the mood for any candles—and his eyes slowly adjusted to the gloom, Gwaine was treated to the vision of the king's blue eyes widening to the point of appearing entirely spherical. By the time that he began to glance back and forth between Merlin and Gwaine, they were all but bugging out of his head.

Gwaine would have been concerned if he didn't always find it so entertaining whenever Arthur made a fool of himself in a manner completely unbefitting a king. His day usually automatically improved whenever he was treated to such a vision.

Unfortunately, he was not treated to the vision for very long. After glancing back and forth between Merlin and Gwaine for a few more moments, Arthur started to take long strides backward, clearly trying to make as little noise as possible. Gwaine almost smiled. Merlin must not have been the only one who was exhausted. Did Arthur really think that they wouldn't notice him if he was quiet on his way out? He must have been tired. His wide eyes were certainly red enough to indicate that he would benefit from a good night's sleep. Gwaine almost hoped for the king's own sake that Arthur would turn his hasty retreat from the armory into a determined walk to his bedchambers to lie down before he remembered that he was supposed to be almost as mad at Arthur as he was at Merlin. Besides, he could hardly blame Arthur for not wanting to be privy to this particular reunion, even if his method of exiting was somewhat less than dignified. Gwaine hadn't exactly envied either the king or Merlin when they'd had to face the wrath of Guinevere, and he assumed that this confrontation was likely to be of a similar sort. He wouldn't have had much in the way of dignity either.

Arthur finally out of the room, Gwaine turned his head back to look at Merlin, just in time to see the young man roll his eyes and shake his head with that strange expression of his that seemed to be a mixture of affection and exasperation. It was one that he often seemed to wear in Arthur's presence. Arthur happened to be the sort of king whose ideas didn't seem to make very much sense until they were put into action and their purpose became clear and far less laughable that when they were proposed. Exasperation was not exactly the rarest of reactions to some of Arthur's antics, in Gwaine's opinion. Being a good king did not automatically make Arthur the easiest of kings.

When Merlin finally looked back at Gwaine, he wore a very small and rather apologetic smile on his face. "Kind of makes you wonder if crown inheritance is the best method of managing a monarchy, doesn't it?"

Gwaine wasn't entirely sure how he wanted to answer that. Part of him wanted to abandon his earlier resolve and throw something at Merlin for embracing such levity when they were meant to be having a serious discussion about the merits of saying proper farewells to particularly close friends when fleeing away from them forever. Part of him wanted to smile that smile that everyone who knew Arthur and Merlin smiled whenever one of them insulted the abilities of the other, amused and exasperated and endeared despite themselves. Part of him wanted to agree, wanted to express to Merlin the deep-seated and fairly irrational fear that, one of these days, the part of Arthur that was Uther would manifest itself and Arthur would become the sort of king that he had sworn not to be. So Gwaine just opened his mouth and said the first thing that popped into his mind.

"Kind of makes me think that you insulting the decision-making of another man is about the same as a dragon saying his flames are too hot."

Merlin visibly flinched, shutting his eyes for a moment, and held up his hands in an expression of surrender. "Gwaine, I'm sorry that—"

But Gwaine cut him off. Merlin had broken the silence between them; it was Gwaine's turn to vent. And vent he would. "Merlin, how long have you been back?"

Merlin blinked rather rapidly and paused, looking as though he legitimately had to think about it to determine how long he'd been in Camelot since his return from exile. When he gave his answer, he sounded genuinely surprised. "A day or so, I think.

"You think?"

"I've been kind of busy, Gwaine!" Merlin answered, sounding both angry and defensive.

Gwaine scowled. How did Merlin feel justified in speaking angrily to him? Gwaine had all of the high ground in this exchange. Where did Merlin get off?

It was ridiculous, and Gwaine was so annoyed that Merlin was not just standing still and letting Gwaine yell at him that he almost didn't notice that Merlin's anger—was that anger?—was tinged with something close to a sadness that had nothing to do with his exhaustion. He felt his expression soften. Whatever had kept Merlin busy—and Gwaine did not doubt that part of Merlin's story—had not been easy.

Not as easy as, say, giving a wave goodbye before running away like a coward.

Or running away like the friendship meant less to Merlin than it did to Gwaine.

Gwaine preferred to think that Merlin was a coward.

"Fine. You've been busy. I accept that."

Merlin narrowed his eyes at Gwaine's suddenly pleasant tone. He seemed to sense that anything that he should say would just lead him to falling into a trap of sorts.

"I'm…glad. That's very understanding of you. Thank you?" Merlin responded halfheartedly, biting his lip hopefully, and Gwaine was distantly disappointed that Merlin hadn't said something more offensive. He would have loved to incorporate some current specifics into the complaints that he'd been accumulating on a semi-frequent basis over the six months of Merlin's absence.

"Of course I understand. I'm often busy when I'd rather not be," answered Gwaine.

"…Of course," said Merlin, rather cautiously.

"I understand lots of things, Merlin."

"I know that you do, Gwaine." Gwaine could tell that Merlin was very carefully trying to keep his voice neutral, and he got a sort of dim satisfaction in the knowledge that Merlin still didn't really know where he was going with this.

"But would you like to know what I do not understand?"

Merlin began to nod, although not so much in assent as in comprehension. "Oh. Yes, I see where you're going with this…"

Gwaine cut him off. "Would you like to know, Merlin?"

Merlin stood up very straight and assumed an expression that Gwaine could only assume was meant to convey something closer to penitence than it was to the resignation that was far more apparent. "Yes, Gwaine."

"I don't understand how it is that, when you get the news that you're to be banished from Camelot forever, and you start to make your plans to leave and your list of people to see before you go, you somehow manage to forget to include 'my loyal and true and steadfast friend Gwaine,' but still manage to give a goodbye to Arthur's new manservant whom you only just found out about, let alone met."

"Gwaine…"

"And he doesn't even like you! It's been six months since you left, and I still can't decide whether Roger hates you or is just afraid of you from afar!"

"His name is actually Robert—"

"I know what his name is, Merlin!"

"Okay! I was just making sure!"

"Thank you so much for making sure that—"

"Wait, does Robert really not like me?"

"No!" answered Gwaine automatically. It was true, but he probably would have lied about it if it hadn't been. The best way to argue with Merlin probably did not involve telling him how much he was liked by someone else.

"Why not?" Merlin sounded honestly baffled, and a little bit offended.

"I couldn't tell you, Merlin. It's not like he was one of your best friends in the entire world and you deliberately left the kingdom without giving him a moment's thought or anything."

"I wouldn't exactly say that I didn't—"

"It's not like he spent the entire month that Arthur left you rotting in the dungeons alternating between slipping you contraband comforts and refusing to speak to the king on your behalf!"

"Did you really not speak to Arthur on my—"

"It's not like you were the first person that he considered a true friend in his life!"

"Well, he apparently isn't going to be my friend now anyway if he doesn't like me—"

"It's not like he was stuck behind with Arthur to deal with the aftermath of you leaving without any real sense of closure with the banished sorcerer!"

"Actually, I think that that's exactly what happened to Robert when I—" protested Merlin, sounding somewhat more animated in what was a rather more defensible point than his previous interruptions.

Gwaine ignored him. "It's not like he had to deal with people asking him how he managed to go for so many years without noticing that his friend was a sorcerer—"

Merlin crossed his arms over his chest. "To be fair, I think that Arthur probably got that more than you did—"

"—or assuming that he had been covering up the fact that his friend was a wizard when it was illegal—"

"I prefer 'warlock,' actually, if you don't mind—'

"—or calling for the king to revoke his knighthood because he was clearly as much a traitor as the idiot wizard who had just been banished—"

Merlin refrained from voicing what was probably inappropriately perky interjection in the face of Gwaine's revelation of what had truly transpired upon his flight from Camelot. "Wait, really?"

"Yes!" At least Merlin was starting to understand that Gwaine was serious.

"Oh," said Merlin, very quietly. "I hadn't thought…"

Gwaine wasn't ready to start being quiet just yet. "Much of anything?"

Merlin shook his head, looking suddenly earnest. "It's just, I knew you'd be mad but—"

"But it didn't matter, because you wouldn't be around to have to face me?" If it was true, Gwaine needed to hear him say it.

"No! Well, yes, a little bit. But I hadn't thought that you would get any of the criticism for the trouble I caused. I figured that it would all fall onto Arthur's shoulders, and considering that he'd had me locked up for almost a whole month, I wasn't too upset about that at the time. If I'd known that you were going to get any of it, I would've…"

"What? You would have what?" asked Gwaine, bitterness and regret—feelings most often denied by the unorthodox knight—beginning to overcome anger. "By the time that you set the council chambers on fire, it was already too late for you to do anything. And blame Arthur all you want—I certainly have—but it's your own fault that you stayed in the dungeons for the whole month. You could have escaped any time you wanted."

Merlin winced. "Okay, yes, I could have escaped. But I needed Arthur to trust me, and Arthur needed to think everything through, so I had to stay in the dungeons."

"How noble of you," Gwaine said flatly.

Merlin clearly picked up on the tone. Growing defensive again, he answered. "Well, I hadn't exactly thought that Arthur would need a whole month to think about it, but I'd made the promise to stay already."

Gwaine nodded. His head was starting to hurt, and the whole confrontation was starting to feel completely absurd. What use was it to stay mad over something that had happened half of a year ago? Over conversations had and not had so many months past? What mattered was what was happened then. "One last thing, Merlin."

"What?" Merlin looked slightly taken aback at the finality of Gwaine's tone. Gwaine couldn't blame him; his previous comments had been designed to offend and provoke. This was something of an abrupt change.

"Are you sorry?"

Merlin did not look surprised. He almost looked relieved at the questioned, and seemed to answer automatically, not bothering to think about it. "Yes."

"Good."

Good. Merlin was sorry, Gwaine could be satisfied, and it could be over. This was good.

"Well…"

Gwaine was starting to see Arthur's point as he had complained about Merlin's less that forthrightness during their conversations in Merlin's dungeon cell.

"What?"

Merlin spoke very fast. "Well, I'd probably do the same thing all over again, but I am sorry that it worked out this way, and you were one of my greatest friends and I hope that this hasn't cost me that friendship."

Gwaine considered this carefully, weighing his options. "Alright then."

This time, Merlin did look surprised. "What do you mean?"

Gwaine shrugged. "I'm done yelling. We can be friends again."

Merlin stared at him. "Just like that?"

"Why not? Fighting enemies is fun. Fighting friends doesn't do anyone any good."

"You don't even want me to explain why?" Merlin almost sounded baffled, which Gwaine took to be a sign that they had been too far apart for too long.

"Were they good reasons?" he asked.

"I wouldn't have done it if they weren't."

"Alright." Gwaine shrugged again. "I trust you."

After a long moment in which neither spoke, Merlin laughed a very small laugh, hardly more than a particularly vehement exhalation, but a laugh all the same. "See, this is why you're so much more fun than Arthur. So much less melodramatic."

"I try."

"You know he still talks about that fire room?"

"It was kind of memorable."

"I know, but he brings it up in completely random conversations. 'Merlin, these turnips are overcooked. It's like someone cast a fire room when they were being prepared.' What does that even mean? It doesn't make any sense."

Gwaine pretended to consider the matter.

"…and you just summarized the king."

Merlin laughed, more loudly this time. Gwaine couldn't suppress a grin himself. It was fairly enjoyable to make fun of Arthur. They were both perfectly aware of the pressures under which Arthur was forced to live constantly, both aware that his training for rule of a kingdom probably meant that his decisions made more sense in the grand scheme than they sometimes seemed to those not raised to wear a crown, both knew from experience that Arthur was sometimes better at coming up with plans and executing them than he was at explaining them. But he was their friend as well as their king, so they generally felt all but duty-bound to tease him.

Feeling more comfortable now that there was some good humor back in the air, Gwaine glanced at Merlin and decided to ask a question that seemed so very simple that his nerves should not have been so much as slightly prickly, but there was something about Merlin's demeanor that made Gwaine almost not want to know the answer. But they were friends again. He had to ask.

"Tell me one thing, Merlin."

Merlin looked up, met Gwaine's gaze, and nodded. "Sure."

"Are you staying this time?"

Merlin almost looked surprised. "Yeah, Gwaine. I'm staying."

There was a rather pregnant pause. It was very nearly a stop; even Gwaine felt that stopping the conversation on that particular note would have been a poignant conclusion of sorts. They could speak no more on this sad matter and they could look forward, moving past the separation so that they could work together once more. They should end there.

Instead, Gwaine shoved himself forward off of the table against which he still leant and spoke. "Tell me one more thing, Merlin."

Merlin groaned good-naturedly. "What now?"

"Why did you come back?"

Merlin sighed. The weariness very suddenly crept back into his face, and Gwaine felt a stab of regret for putting forth his question.

For a few seconds, Merlin did not say anything, and Gwaine had the impression that he was trying to gather his thoughts or, at the very least, come up with a valid excuse for why he did not care to share them just then.

"Gwaine…I know that I'm not really in the position to be asking any favors of you right now…"

Despite himself, Gwaine snorted, and Merlin smiled. "…I know that I shouldn't be asking any favors, but right now, I really really really don't want to talk about why I came back."

Gwaine nodded thoughtfully. Unspoken in Merlin's refusal to answer his question was the implication that he would tell him and, as Merlin had vowed that he would not be running off again, Gwaine figured that there would be plenty of time for him to find out why Merlin had come back and why he seemed so exhausted by it. He figured that he could let the boy get a few hours of sleep in first.

"What do you want to do, then?"

Merlin smiled, and relief skated across his features before his raised his palms and rubbed his face with his hands. "Honestly? I'd like to sleep for about a year; collapse an important part of the castle and claim not to be able to put it back together for the sake of annoying Arthur; do something foolhardy and unnecessarily risky, probably involving a dragon; get rip roaring drunk…"

Merlin trailed off, and Gwaine waited a moment, to see if he would continue. When he did not, Gwaine opened his mouth to respond.

"Well, that last one doesn't sound so bad. I haven't any problem with annoying Arthur or being unnecessarily risky, but if we get drunk enough first, we can probably make it through your whole list by dawn, and I always have had the strange desire to poke a sleeping dragon. Besides, if we're drunk enough before we start, it wouldn't be fair for anyone to blame us for any damage that we may or may not cause."

Merlin laughed. "I should have known better than to suggest getting drunk with you."

Gwaine shrugged. "It sounds a hell of a lot better than me staying mad at you for the rest of the night."

Merlin smiled a smile that was somehow heartbreakingly sad. "Oh, I would if I could, my friend."

"Why can't you? It wouldn't take all that much effort, unless you've spent the last six months conditioning yourself to be able to drink more than a tankard without starting to sing songs and spill secrets."

Merlin rolled his eyes, not bothering to deny Gwaine's implication about his inability to hold alcohol. "Because, Gwaine, if I made a scene on my very first night back in Camelot, Arthur would probably just exile me all over again and I'd be mysteriously missing before the sun comes up tomorrow."

Gwaine glared and Merlin, catching the expression on his face, laughed aloud. "Too soon?"

So they were thus reconciled, simply and angrily and peacefully, all at the same time. It wasn't until much later that Gwaine found out that the reason that Merlin had not chosen to spend the night behaving irresponsibly with Gwaine was because he had a different sort of duty that night, self-imposed and selfless and cathartic in its self-destruction. While Gwaine had gone and celebrated on his own, gotten himself a drink, pinched a few girls into giggling and insulted a few drunks drunker than him, staggered home tipsy and cheerful in the fact that Merlin was back and they were once more on friendly terms and that Arthur would be mad in the morning when Gwaine showed up with the headache and pallor of the morning-after variety, had gone back to his bed and gone to sleep, content and comfortable in the routine that would be able to become routine once more, now that everything and everyone were slipping back into their proper places, Merlin had returned to the chambers long allotted to the castle physician and taken his place above the peaceful and motionless figure that was that of his former guardian, standing vigil over the body of he who had become his father throughout the entire night, alone and awake and adult.

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	3. Priorities

Disclaimer: Merlin is not mine.  
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Gwaine shook his head and sat up. He didn't know what he had hoped would happen by his remembering of the circumstances of their first reunion. Perhaps he had hoped that recalling the maturity and consideration with which they had both treated and concluded their meeting on that fateful night, before he knew of Gaius' death and before Merlin chose to take his vigil in the physician's chambers. Perhaps he had just hoped that taking the time to relive the conversation would give him enough time to cool down and face Merlin with as much maturity as he had before. After all, Merlin technically hadn't taken off and abandoned anyone yet. All that Gwaine had based his growing fury upon was the rumors dealt him by a fluttery manservant.

He shook his head again, still seated on Arthur's bed, and looked once more at Merlin, expecting to see on his face the same sincerity and earnestness that he'd worn when he'd first opened Arthur's door, the look that indicated that he was seeking pre-emptive softening on Gwaine's part, beginning the quest for forgiveness before he even started speaking.

Yet there was no more trace of earnestness on his face. The sincerity was still there, yes, still discernible, but what had been earnest had turned into urgent and all of Gwaine's childish remonstrance's disappeared from his mind immediately. He suddenly had the distinct impression that, whatever it was that was drawing Merlin away on his rumored flight from the citadel, it was more serious than a desire to scare Arthur by doing loops in the air on the back of a dragon or trying to retrieve his horse from where he had left her, choosing the speed of travel by dragon over horseback in his haste to return to Camelot to bid a final farewell to Gaius before the possibility was lost to him forever.

He also realized immediately that, not only were the rumors that had reached him completely true, they had failed to convey the seriousness of the matter. Merlin looked almost frightened under all of his urgency, anxious and fearful and eager to begin and full of dread for whatever it was that he was off to do at the same time, and so very determined that the gravity on his face was more pronounced than Gwaine had ever seen it. A chill ran down his back, and he became very glad that Merlin had come to see him.

It was therefore completely inadequate when he heard the first thing that Merlin had to say.

"Hi, Gwaine."

Gwaine waved his hand vaguely in front of him, as though he could brush away the feebleness of the forced casualness that Merlin was clearly trying to imbue in his voice.

"Merlin, what is it?"

Merlin spoke as though Gwaine had not given any response, and Gwaine had the impression that Merlin had had the forethought to think about what he needed to say before facing him. "I've been looking all over for you. I finally had to ask Gwen if she knew anything, and I'm glad that she did but now I'm afraid that she might have noticed that something was going wrong from how I was babbling and from the look on her face, she did, so I really need you to listen to me and help me and not ask too many questions right now because I need to be gone before anyone knows anything. Please."

Gwaine took half of a moment to absorb this. Merlin had some nerve, coming in and demanding Gwaine's help and demanding that he know nothing about it and demanding that he deceive the queen regarding what he was almost positive involved the disappearance both of Merlin and of her husband and demanding all of this after running off like an idiot the last time that he'd disappeared and how could he expect Gwaine to do all of this for him?

In the second half of that moment, Gwaine opened his mouth and said, "Tell me what you need me to do."

He stood up, strong and solid and determined and not at all doubtful.

Merlin smiled and began to speak.

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	4. A Farewell And A Future

Disclaimer: Merlin is not mine.  
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As it turned out, the smile that had taken to Merlin's face when Gwaine had voiced his willingness to provide whatever assistance was necessary for whatever Merlin was planning on doing was not one of reassurance, as Gwaine had hoped and believed. As he sat back down on the bed, slightly dizzied by the pace with which Merlin had begun pacing about Arthur's chambers, he realized that it had been a smile of an increasingly manic nature. It didn't help that Merlin had spent the previous five minutes filled with what he clearly believed was valuable and helpful knowledge, speaking swiftly and strangely tonelessly.

"Good. I'm glad. Thank you," said Merlin, despite the fact that Gwaine had not provided any answer to the most recent question.

"Merlin, could you sit down please? I'm getting a headache."

Merlin either didn't hear him or didn't have the nerve to deviate from his purpose of apparently giving Gwaine as much information with the fewest amount of inhalations as was physically possible. If anything, he began to pace faster. "You're going to have to be the one to tell Gwen. That's not going to be any pleasant task, so I'm sorry. This might be a case of blaming the messenger."

Gwaine closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the static darkness of the inside of his eyelids as a contrast to Merlin's frantic trek throughout the rooms that he knew so well.

"Why me?" he finally asked, opening his eyes again.

Merlin actually looked at and answered him this time, which Gwaine supposed could be considered progress. "Well, if Arthur or I did it, she'd probably find a way to stop us. I mean, I'm a sorcerer and Arthur is the greatest warrior in the five kingdoms—sorry, one of the greatest warriors in the five kingdoms—but I swear to you that she would somehow find a way to keep at least one of us here, through any means necessary in all likelihood, so neither of us can be the one to tell her what—"

Gwaine shook his head. "Not that. Why are you telling me all of this? I'm not complaining about being kept in the loop this time, but if there's all this stuff that Gwen needs to know, wouldn't it be easier to explain it to her? I'm sure she'd understand eventually."

Merlin suddenly stopped pacing, and it took Gwaine a few seconds for him to train his eyes on the solitary and immobile figure in front of him. He had grown so accustomed to Merlin's furious path throughout the room that his eyes kept following, even as the figure had stopped. It was a very strange feeling. Welcome, but strange.

"Oh," said Merlin, sounding almost surprised at the question. "Because I can trust you."

Well, that just didn't make a whole lot of sense. Gwaine could not deny that Merlin would be entirely correct to trust Gwaine; but the implications that he was the only person that Merlin ought to trust in Camelot seemed…off. "You can't trust the queen?"

"No, I can," said Merlin, so immediately that Gwaine could not doubt him, and shook his head. "It's just you because…"

He trailed off and, despite the apparent urgency of the situation, Gwaine's interest was too piqued to leave this line of questioning alone. "Because what?"

"Gwaine, I really need to get going, so if you don't mind, I'm just going to leave now and—"

Gwaine almost rolled his eyes. "Merlin."

Merlin began pacing again, although thankfully with less ridiculous speed. "Fine! It's because of…listen, do you remember that day in the council chamber, after I set it on fire?"

Was he serious?

"No, Merlin. It has completely slipped my mind. Please, refresh my memory."

Merlin waved the comment away, although he did look somewhat abashed. "Okay, stupid question. But, do you remember how, when I got rid of the fire room and Arthur and I came out and everyone was looking at me like I was some kind of murderous freak? How even Arthur looked as though he was one more spark away from having me gored with a spear and washing his hands of me entirely? How all of the knights in the room but two had their crossbows aimed at my heart from the instant that they remembered that they were armed and trained to kill?"

Where was Merlin going with this? It couldn't have been any more enjoyable a recollection for him than it was for Gwaine.

"I remember."

Merlin nodded and continued. "And how Sir Leon had just about burned his leg to the bone and was reeling in agony and likely to be crippled unless he was treated immediately, but still refused to let me help, even though he knew that if I did it, I could undo it?"

"Yes…" Gwaine had nearly cold-shouldered Leon for that refusal; the only thing that had stopped him was that Leon had relented and that Leon still was in plenty of physical pain with which Gwaine had certainly been able to relate. Being snubbed by Gwaine just didn't seem fair at that point. Nor would he have gotten much enjoyment out of it, he imagined.

Merlin kept speaking. Gwaine had the impression that this was something that Merlin had been wanting to say for quite some time. "And how nobody in the entire room knew what the hell was going on and all that they knew for sure was that sorcerers were evil and I was a sorcerer and I had just trapped their king inside of a terrible room of fire and how I had just—even indirectly—wounded two of the greatest knights in all of Camelot and how every single bit of evidence pointed to me being evil and a spy and a traitor?"

"Yes…"

Merlin half-smiled, looking distant and no longer looking Gwaine in the eye. "And then there was you, with your own arm burned half off because of a spell that I had cast, in so much pain that you were on the verge of passing out, as far as I could tell, with all of that evidence of my evilness in front of you, all of the evidence that had even led Arthur to cast me away in fear. And you laughed and asked me to help you and told me funny stories like it was any other day and you'd just scratched yourself experimenting with some new move during training and that everything was still normal and nothing had changed while my world was collapsing around me? And how you stayed by my side, even though you were hurt, just to make sure that the other knights didn't try to do anything to me while Arthur took his damn time before deciding to send me to the dungeons? How you still saw your friend rather than the sorcerer when you should have, by all rights and reason, been calling for my head?"

For a moment, Gwaine couldn't speak.

"I remember."

He did. He just hadn't known that Merlin had remembered. That had been kind of an eventful month for him. He'd figured that Merlin had had more important things to remember about that day.

Merlin met Gwaine's gaze once more. "That is why you are the only one that I am telling that we are leaving and that is why, even though Arthur ordered me to tell no one and to just leave a note for Gwen to explain what the hell we're off to do, I'm telling you. And that is why I didn't say goodbye the first time that I left. I knew that you would do something stupid like offer to come with me or follow me, and I couldn't bring you into exile with me just because I had gotten myself banished."

He did not speak anymore, and Gwaine looked down at the floor. He had thought that he did not need to know why Merlin had left without saying goodbye. He had thought that it wouldn't do any good and that he felt like his forgiveness could be more absolute if he did not have to hear the extent of the crime against him. He hadn't thought that it would make a difference.

It did.

Gwaine sniffed. Then, he realized something.

"Merlin!"

Merlin seemed taken aback by the sharpness in Gwaine's voice, such a contrast to how they had been conversing only seconds before. "What?"

"You just said that you were telling me all about why you were leaving."

"Yes..?"

"You haven't told me anything!"

"Hey, I said that I was in a hurry!"

"Are you being deliberately vague?"

"No! Okay, here. I'll give you the condensed version. Arthur's been summoned away, and while Arthur doesn't usually respond well to summons, this isn't really one that he can toss at me and tell me to find a semi-tactful way to refuse. So we're going as soon as we can get our affairs in order." Merlin shrugged as though he had explained everything perfectly.

Gwaine chose to ignore the final sentence, which sounded far too much like they were planning for this trip to conclude in a manner far more final than did their usual harebrained missions. Instead, he latched on to the first inconsistency in Merlin's explanation.

"You said that Arthur has been summoned."

"Yes?" Merlin sounded as though he was confused as to where Gwaine was going with this, and Gwaine only just avoided sighing in exasperation. They did not have time for exasperation.

"Why are you going?"

Merlin just stared at him uncomprehendingly for a few moments longer. Then, finally understanding, he laughed, almost bitterly and almost in amusement. "You know, I don't think either of us really thought that I wouldn't. I even read the summons before Arthur did, although that's partly just because he was being lazy. Besides, he's going to want me to be there for reasons other than company and my ability to use flint without breaking my fingers in the attempt. He might not know it yet, but he will."

Gwaine crossed his arms over his chest. "And what reason would that be? Why would he need you other than to counteract his general inability to do menial tasks for himself?"

Merlin hesitated, looking as though he was not sure how to convey his meaning without going into too elaborate and lengthy an explanation of what he was off to do. "Look at it this way, Sir Gwaine. If you're going to fight fire, you need fire. If you're going to fight a swordsman, you need a sword. If you're going to joust, you need a horse and a lance. If you're facing an archer from afar, you need a shield and a crossbow. If you're going to stab, you need a dagger."

"Yes…"

Gwaine would have laughed at Merlin's examples of combat situations, given his notorious general lack of battle prowess in the past, but considering his years of fetching gear and fitting armor for Arthur, Merlin probably knew more about the logistics of a good fight than the majority of Arthur's knights. Plus, he was too busy trying to figure out what Merlin was trying to tell him to spare the time to laugh.

Merlin shrugged. "Well, where we're going? Arthur's going to need me."

Gwaine absorbed what Merlin was saying, and a jolt of fear ran through him. Merlin was still speaking somehow as though he was not planning on coming back and that, if he treated it casually enough, it wouldn't matter so much.

He felt Merlin's eyes on him, and he glanced back up at his friend, who looked as though he was gauging his reaction. Carefully. When Gwaine glared fiercely back at him, Merlin smiled, apparently pleased that Gwaine was saving any potential panic attacks for a point in the future when they were not so pressed for time.

Suddenly businesslike, Merlin reached into his pocket and pulled out a half-burned candle and threw it at Gwaine, who caught it. "Okay, make sure that you don't lose this. It's the only one in existence, and I know that sounds melodramatic, but it is, and I'd make another one, but I don't have time. I stole it from Gwen's chambers, so she'll be able to explain it to you. You're going to have to share. Sorry that it's purple—I could probably change the color quickly enough, but Gwen's going to be mad enough as it is, and for your sake, I don't want to push it."

Gwaine examined the purple candle in his rough hands. It looked like a plain, old, well-used candle. There were drips of hardened wax on the side, and the wick was black and burnt. From what he could see, there was nothing particularly special about it, but Merlin looked rather anxious as Gwaine picked at the tip with his fingernail, leaving a small but visible nick, so he figured that it had to have some function other than lighting a room. He also stopped picking at the wax.

He pocketed it. "Gwen knows?"

Merlin nodded, looking relieved that Gwaine wasn't asking too many questions.

He then tossed a scroll in Gwaine's direction, who caught it easily and looked down at the writing on the outside. It was clearly intended for Arthur. The parchment was crinkled and the lavender wax of the seal flaking off to the point of being entirely unrecognizable, as though the curl of the scroll had been rolled and unrolled and read and reread many times since it had arrived. He read it swiftly and, as he did, he felt his eyes grow very wide, and his body gave an involuntary shudder, as though it was trying to physically reject as impossible the contents of the message that had been sent to the king.

And then there was only one thing that he could possibly say. He didn't need to know more. Merlin's urgency was far more important than his own. Besides, what kind of rebellious knight would he be if he wasn't good at improvising on the unorthodox?

"Merlin?"

Merlin looked strangely apprehensive. "Yes?"

"Go."

Merlin gave a quick and grateful, almost respectful smile, nodded and began to check at his pockets. He then glanced around the room with the practiced eye of a man who probably knew every nook and cranny better than the man who inhabited it. Gwaine figured that he was checking to see if there was anything that needed to snag to take with them. It felt like a better option than Merlin taking one last look around the chambers that he'd spent so many hours cleaning, for the sake of nostalgia. Finally, apparently finding nothing worth picking up, Merlin turned and opened the heavy wooden door of Arthur's chambers. Through his anxiety, Gwaine was faintly grateful that Merlin was leaving the scroll with him. He had the feeling that he would be wanting to look it over another few dozen times. Guinevere would probably want some proof, anyway.

Then, before exiting the room to leave the citadel and its people behind, Merlin turned back to Gwaine once more, eyes filled with some sort of emotion that was too strong and too undiluted by any others than Gwaine could not for the life of him identify it.

"Oh, and Gwaine?" Merlin called out, determination concealed beneath the tremulousness of his voice.

"Yes, Merlin?"

Merlin gave a small smile. "Don't lose the candle."

And Merlin left, shutting the door behind him with such a bang that Gwaine suspected that Merlin must have used magic to slam it.

As the echoes of the bang faded away into the walls of Arthur's large and very empty chambers, Gwaine lay back on the bed once more, trying to process his thoughts. At that moment, however, as he clenched his hands around the scroll bearing the dark summons and the purple candle that he was not to lose, all that he could think of was how he hoped that these mysterious items would serve as tools in the secret battle to provide aid to Merlin and Arthur from afar, and not as mementos that would serve as souvenirs from friendships quenched too early and valuable lives lost in lands far away from home.

So Gwaine lay there, wearing the introspective look that greatly became him but which few people ever saw, and he hoped.

It was the best thing that he could do.

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